Northern Stars

by Laurence Cockcroft

  ‘That’s settled. The first five ’undred’ll go over the top with you. All the rest are going on by Stockport and Buxton – I’ll stick with them, but we want the Charter and Petition carried over the top to keep it well clear of the army. There’s nothing they’d like better than to see thousands of Chartists arriving in London with no Charter, no Petition and no signatures. The Oldham lads will carry the Petition but I’d like your group to carry the Charter.’

  He moved on without waiting for an answer, as Ruth observed the look of concern and worry on her father’s face. He was going to find this a new and heavy burden.

  One thing was clear to Jess: Jethro Strongitharm with his one leg and crutches could not march with them over the hills. He would have to stay with the group whose route lay through the towns and valleys. The old soldier did not take much persuading, but Jess wanted to make sure he was well looked after, and knew that Joshua in particular would be sorry to lose his company.

  ‘Joshua, you and I’ll go together wi’ Jethro back to t’Stockport group and see ’e’s alreet wi ’them.’

  Joshua needed no prompting and Jethro was glad enough to have the support. The leader of the Stockport marchers, Ben Mather, was a young, fairly well-dressed man in his thirties who Jess Midgeley recognised as having been on the platform of speakers on the previous evening in Manchester.

  ‘Aye, that’s right enough,’ he said, when Jess mentioned the plan. ‘The executive committee what met last night reckoned it’d be best way to make sure at least a few ’undred of us get to London. Feargus was dead right on that, and t’members didn’t tak much persuading.’

  ‘Well, we’re prepared to follow t’Oldham group over t’moor, but Jethro ’ere, who’s already lost a leg for England, shouldn’t be facing them peat bogs, an’ we thought ’appen he could march with you.’

  ‘Aye, and spy out the soldiers for you,’ said Jethro, leaning on his crutch. ‘Now that the Duke’s turned on ’is own men, you need a few that’s seen military tactics.’

  ‘You’re welcome to march with us,’ said Ben Mather. ‘Just stay close to me.’

  ‘Well, Jess,’ said Jethro, ‘this is more than a day out, and I wonder when we’ll get them Parliament men in our sights. Young Joshua, I’m right sorry to part wi’you. I’ll miss you, lad, look after thissen.’ He stretched his hand out and Joshua took it, turning away hurriedly. Father and son walked back to the Todmorden group, each more gloomy for the loss of Jethro.

  The Oldham marchers were now impatient to be off. Behind them, the columns of the five towns selected for the moorland journey were also in line and ready to leave.

  The petition with its half-million signatures was now rolled up and carried by three of the Oldham marchers, one behind the other.

  They were going to march east of Manchester through Denton and Hyde to Glossop, and then on to the top of the Pennines and southwards to Matlock and Nottingham. A break in the column followed the Rochdale marchers: all those behind it were going to take the lowland route through Stockport, and then south-east to Matlock and Nottingham. The two columns would regroup in Matlock and march as one into Nottingham, where support for the Charter was strong.

  O’Connor and Place were standing at the front of the Oldham column, ready to give the signal to move. There was a bugler by their side: a veteran of peacetime service with the Lancashire Fusiliers who had now thrown in his lot with the Chartists.

  ‘Now come on, Tommy, let’s have a blast on that bugle and get them on their way,’ said O’Connor.

  From their position behind the Oldham marchers, Ruth and Joshua could clearly hear the reveille sounded on the bugle, and felt ready for a long day’s march. Joshua imagined himself marching off to Waterloo with Jethro; Ruth wondered if the clouds would clear and they could sleep under an open sky full of stars. Both drew comfort from the fact that Marion was beside them, apparently as cheerful as ever. While waiting for the sign to move, Marion and Jim Knotts had started joking to keep themselves alert:

  ‘Well, Jim, finally in the real world, lad, aren’t thou? – beats cracking jokes in Tod Market.’

  ‘This the real world? Tha’ mun be joking, Marion. Real world begins in Derbyshire where ah grew up, and where we’re ’eading now. I’ll soon show tha’ the gates of Paradise.’

  ‘Oh, so you and the angels were kissing cousins, were tha’?’ said Marion. ‘I almost wish I’d been there.’

  ‘Tha’ wouldn’t ’a wished to be wi’ me in the kind of nursery I were in,’ said Jim, turning serious.

  ‘An’ what were that?’ said Marion, catching his mood.

  ‘Why, my nursery were Arkwright’s mill at Cressbrook, where he kept over two ’undred orphans from London,’ said Jim, adding shyly, ‘an’ I were one on’em.’

  ‘Well, who’d a thought it, young Jim. Wi’ you talking proper Lancashire like.’

  ‘A’ can as soon talk Lunnon as Lancashire,’ said Jim. ‘Not to mention Derbyshire, by the way,’ and he launched into the national anthem cockney style:

  God sive our groycious queen,

  Long live our noble queen,

  God sive the queen.

  ‘Ooh, sounds awful,’ chipped in Ruth. ‘Just as well tha’ learned to speak rightly.’

  ‘Well, that’s just ’cause I escaped from Arkwright’s place and came to Lancashire,’ said Jim.

  ‘Escaped?’ said Joshua. ‘’Ow dust’a do that?’

  ‘There’s a river what runs by Cressbrook Mill, and mill t’ depends on three water wheels in t’river. Top one is small enough, ‘appen four feet across, but it gets stuck easy wi’ driftwood and that. They used to send me and one other lad down to tak out driftwood, an’ one day we were told to go when it were right dark in winter – after five o’clock in th’evening. As we walked down t’river to t’ wheel, we both looked at each other and knew what were on us minds. We never stopped at the wheel but ran on and on down the river path, through woods and steep valleys, some with great cliffs rising as far as you could make out.

  ‘Every now and then, t’path ’ud leave river and go through a village or line of ’ouses, and sometimes another mill. After more miles than I’d like to count, we were running through another mill yard by the river, and Jamie – that were me friend – slipped an’ fell. A great big man, what looked like an overseer, came out and put his boot on ’im, saying, “No, you don’t, ya young puppy. I can see tha’s from Mr Arkwright’s mill down yonder.”

  ‘“Let me go, let me go,” said Jamie. But there was no way that brute were going to release ’im.

  ‘“Run for it, Jim,” cried Jamie as the overseer pulled ‘im up by scruff of ’is neck. And that I did, faster ’n before, though I thought I were already puffed out. Tho’ t’overseer shouted at me too, I got through yard and back t’river path outside the glow of t’mill’s oil lamps.’

  ‘What then?’ said Joshua, alive with interest.

  ‘Well, there were nowt for it but to carry on till I dropped exhausted and slept in bushes by river. It were ducks what waked me up in’t morning, and I walked on as far as I could. After a while, path came to pike road an’ I’d no choice but to follow it through t’ills to Buxton. There weren’t much traffic on that road, an’ tho’ I got a few stares, no one took much notice of me.

  ‘When a’got to Buxton I found my way t’market where I met some lads, and there were two brothers amongst them what were right friendly. They took me ’ome an’ their family adopted me. I were twelve then, and a good winder. It weren’t long afore I could find work in a spinning mill and soon began to pay me way.’

  ‘So ’ow did tha’ get to Tod then?’ said Joshua, swept up in Jim’s story.

  ‘Well, after a couple of years I reckoned they’d ’ad enough o’ me, and I said me thanks and farewells and pushed on to Manchester which were too big. I needed a small town where I could make friends more easy li
ke, and so I came on t’canal one day to your place, worse luck,’ he finished with a smile.

  Marion was taken aback by Jim’s powers of survival. The sandy-haired joker she had always regarded as something of a layabout must have plenty of courage and determination. Ruth and Joshua were amazed at how much Jim had done alone when he was about their age.

  The bugle reveille had alerted the whole line of marchers to action. The Oldham column set out on the road for Denton and Glossop, with the Todmorden group falling in behind, followed by the columns from the other three towns. As they filed past O’Connor, he gave them a cheerful wave, pleased to see that the argument he had put to Jess Midgeley had prevailed. They noticed William Steele standing close behind him and were delighted to see him raise his top hat in salute to them.

  Their spirits were not depressed by the long march through Denton to the east. They soon left the industrial heart of Manchester: the cannons of mills and warehouses of the kind they had passed through the previous day fell away within a mile to the green fields of Openshaw. Soon they were in an area of hamlets and farmsteads scattered between fields, still a faded gold after haymaking. Looking beyond the fields, they could see the shape of the familiar moors not more than ten miles away.

  At first, it had seemed to Ruth and Joshua that it would not take more than half a morning to get to the bottom of the moors, and then the whole column would be up and away, marching easily up to and along the top. But in fact it took more than five hours for the column to reach the end of the walled fields and the beginning of the rough moorland. The people of the farmsteads through which they passed had, for the most part, looked at them with disapproval. Although many of them had members of their family who worked in the mills in Manchester, their main livelihood was from the sale of meat, eggs and oatcakes in the city. Anything which savoured of a strike could mean a loss of income, and they were likely to be against it.

  Ruth was surprised to notice one big old man with a crook and a sheepdog who had watched them from in front of a stone wall, shaking his head. She just caught him saying, apparently to his dog:

  ‘T’city of Jericho u’d never fall to a crowd o’ this ilk, now would it, Lassie?’

  She couldn’t help giving the farmer a smile as she walked past, but as she walked on, just caught him saying:

  ‘An’ wilt ’a still smile on top o’Kinder Scout, lass?’ She began to wonder if she would.

  As the column approached the end of the lane between the fields, Frank Sykes and Jess Midgeley had walked together to agree on how best to organise the march over the top. They both knew that Matlock lay about fifty miles to the south-east, but neither had covered the ground by the high or the low route. Jess had heard that Jim Knotts had come from close to Matlock and asked him how much he knew. Jim had told him that he would be able to help once they got over into Miller’s Dale where Cressbrook Mill was, but that he had never been over Kinder Scout, whose mass now loomed before them. Frank and Jess concluded that they at least needed directions from someone who knew the moor, and afterwards accosted one of the farmers as they marched through his yard.

  ‘Begging tha’ pardon, which way should we be going to top o’ Kinder Scout to get down into Derbyshire?’

  ‘Tha’ mun be careful, lads, tha’ might lose a few to ’peat and cliffs an’ there could be a storm brewing up today. Best way is yon track as they call Doctor’s Gait and then to turn south through peat bogs on’t top. But there’s nobbut sheep tracks up there to show t’way. Now I could give thee my lad Enoch?’

  Frank and Jess were quick to seize the opportunity. ‘Well, that’d be grand. For we mun get to Matlock in three days. We’ve not time to get lost.’

  At this, the farmer turned to a dark-haired boy of about twelve standing close to him.

  ‘Enoch, lad, wilt’a go over’t top wi’em? Up t’gait an’ over t’rocks. ‘Think on at Devil’s Rock, though, lad. Tha’ never knows what tha’ll find there.’

  Enoch nodded. He’d already decided he preferred sheep to people, but he also liked the moor better than anywhere and knew it like the back of his hand. He was happy to show his knowledge to this crowd of strangers, provided that he wasn’t expected to speak to them. Ruth and Joshua, not far away, were glad to see that there was now at least one person of their own age on the march.

  Few of the marchers were used to rough walking, and fewer still had boots which would turn the water in the peat bogs. A good half were wearing clogs with wooden soles which were comfortable enough on the flat surfaces of streets and mill floors, but were too loose to provide support on rough moorland. Others had old leather shoes which, even if waterproof, failed to cover their ankles. Most were wearing rough woollen jackets which provided little enough protection for the walk to work on a cold autumn morning, and would provide even less for the walk over the top. They had been marching three abreast on the ground they had covered so far. As they began to climb up the moorland track, the marchers adopted their own pace, and the lines of three abreast were replaced by straggling columns of individuals.

  Ruth and Joshua, much more used to the moor than most of the marchers, soon found themselves moving further and further ahead along the column. Marion struggled to keep up with them, and finding herself out of breath, would drop back as soon as she drew level with them. Before long, the two children drew level with their father; Frank Sykes and the farmer’s son, Enoch.

  ‘No straggling fro’ you two then,’ said Jess, giving them a quick smile. ‘Where’s Marion? Tha’s not left ’er behind, ’ave thee?’

  ‘Oh, she’s back yonder wi’ Jim Knotts,’ said Ruth, turning round and pointing down the moor. Jess turned round looking for Marion and Jim and was disturbed to see how spread out the line had become.

  ‘They’re straggling too much, Frank,’ he said. ‘We may start losing ’em.’

  ‘Aye, and stragglers’ll not find them farming folk too ’elpful,’ said Frank Sykes quietly, so that the boy Enoch would not hear. ‘Tha’d best go down t’line, Jess, and keep behind them as is falling back. Tha’ childer can stay wi’me.’

  ‘Well, I’ll fall back a bit, but I’m not playing nursemaid to every straggler from Bolton and Burnley, or we’ll never get t’Charter to London. Tha’d best stay at front now wi’ Frank, you two,’ he said to Ruth and Joshua, while standing aside to let the line pass him.

  Ruth and Joshua needed little encouragement to keep at the front of the marchers. They found that the pace set by Frank Sykes was easy for them, and they liked keeping in step with Enoch, who led them confidently up a moorland track. The route had been developed to take rock from a quarry towards the top of the moor, but the quarry had become exhausted as a result of the never-ending demand for stone to build mills and houses in Manchester. The track was now overgrown and small bogs were forming along it. Enoch seemed to know where these were before coming to them, and frequently jumped over them. Ruth and Joshua did not see them so clearly and found water seeping over the top of their clogs before they had time to pull their feet out.

  Ruth found herself turning round every five minutes to see how far Marion had dropped back. She could still make her out about halfway down the winding and ragged line of marchers. Joshua looked back even more often to see whether he could still see his father. He was not sure whether the hazy figure who seemed to interrupt his walk every few minutes to talk to stragglers was him or not. But he could see that most of those who seemed to be turning back were persuaded to change their mind and rejoin the column.

  As Joshua pulled his left clog out of another small bog, he was reminded of the attack from the dogs on the Todmorden moors three years ago. The hounds which had been set on him had been patrolling a very similar stretch of moorland.

  ‘D’tha’ ’ave keepers up ’ere then?’ he said to Enoch, who up to that moment had led the column in total silence.

  It was the one topic on which Enoch was w
illing to speak immediately.

  ‘Keepers? Aye, we do an’all. An’ they can make us life murder. If there’s one sheep that strays off common land onto Duke o’ Devonshire’s moor, we’ll never see ’im again. An’ if we chase ’em onto t’Duke’s moor, there’s a ’ole pack of ’ounds as’ll tear us flesh off if we’re not careful.’

  ‘An’ ’ow much land does the Duke ’ave then?’ asked Joshua.

  ‘From top o t’moor yonder down t’other side to Chatsworth House, that’s ’appen thirty mile, though neither me dad nor any other sheep owners ’ave been near there.’

  ‘An’ ’ow much land do you ’ave?’

  ‘All tha’ can see to t’top yonder and over to just below Kinder Scout top. They say it’s about a thousand acres, but there’s more than twenty farmers what are grazing it and not enough grass for any of ’em. It’s only six months since Jimmy Walton lost ‘is two rams to t’Duke’s men.’

  Ruth could see that the silent Enoch had something to say after all.

  ‘When’ll we get to t’top then?’ she asked.

  ‘’Appen another hour, if you don’t slow down,’ said Enoch. ‘An’ then we’ve got to turn along ’top and through them deep peat bogs to get onto Kinder Scout.’

  ‘What’s Kinder Scout?’ said Joshua.

  ‘Tha’ don’t know Kinder Scout?’ said Enoch in an unbelieving tone. ‘It’s the ’ighest peak for miles. That great black mass tha’ could see as tha’ walked from Manchester.’

  Joshua remembered the dark, high hill the marchers could see on the horizon as they left the streets of Manchester. As they had drawn nearer to the lower hills, they had lost sight of it beyond the horizon, but Joshua remembered it well enough to see it would be no easy walk for the straggling column of five hundred marchers.

  ‘’Ow soon will we be there then?’ asked Ruth.

  ‘Well, me and me dog Shep ’ud tak about an ’our to top, ’appen two hours from ’ere. But wi’you lot, it’ll tak ’appen three. An’ if I’m going to show thee way into Edale, that’s way we’ll be going.’